Disclaimer: In this interview the colloquial speech of both interviewees was retained to give an authentic voice to some of the important people who reside in Southern Oregon. Both interviewees agreed with the format and gave me permission to use the interview as recorded. The names referred to in the interview concern only those individuals mentioned and not by coincidence any others. No attempt has been made to correct the grammar or to remove offensive material. The main purpose was to gain a better understanding of two of Southern Oregon’s most prominent pioneers and to convey their points of view. In no way do their points of view coincide with those of the interviewer. This interview came about by accident and the curiosity of the interviewer. The reader who proceeds does so after being warned of the nature of the interview–RMW

I had given over one hundred interviews, but none of my experience could have prepared me for what I was to encounter that day. Life has a way of surprising us when we least expect it.

During the day in question I brought my blue satchel, containing tape recorder, extra batteries, note pad, pen, and camera. I always had miniature bottles of water with me and some precautionary antacids. This was standard procedure for any of my proposed trips.

I couldn’t have asked for a nicer day; temperature in the upper 70s, wisps of white clouds floating gently across a blue sky. Mt. McLaughlin, Southern Oregon’s famous triangular peak that topped 9000 ft. seemed to exert a gravitational force, pulling my car further and further to the east of Hwy 62. I seemed to have lost control as my brown 2004 Toyota Corolla moved obediently up the narrow highway towards the distant peak. I thought of the Native Americans that had settled here long ago and of the Homestead Act that brought the encroaching settlers into their private land.

Suddenly, my car gave me a jolt as the road had quietly become a gravel road, loaded with stones. It seemed that one of those stones was quite attracted to one of my tires–hence the jolt. I decided to continue on this road, because I had never driven on it and it seemed intriguing. As it became more pitted, I was glad to see a cross road which headed north towards a valley. I wasted no time in turning onto what appeared to be a smooth dirt road. But after the road made a few bends, some large granitic boulders sparkling with mica blocked any further travel. I decided to park the car on an outcropping, and grabbed my blue satchel, stuck a small water bottle in my pocket, locked the car and began to walk along the road.

It seemed that someone had placed the boulders to prevent cars from continuing, because after I had been on the road for some minutes, it became smooth again and angled down towards the valley. And from the distance I could make out the shape of what appeared to be some kind of dwelling. When I drew closer, I saw the clear outline of a brown wooden home with shake roof and magnificent ponderosa pine towering above some scrub oak. I could hear the gentle sound of water and felt myself absorbed by the beautiful landscape surrounding me. I began to hear a rustling in the bushes and two figures looked out at me. One was a tall, slender man with hair that had turned silver, while the other was a more rotund feminine figure also with graying hair. Both of them looked me over with piercing and distrustful eyes.

–We see you was walking to our place so we come to look at ya. We knows you was curious enough to hop over our obstacles, and when you kept a commin, we was plum interested in who you was”, said the tall man in a raspy voice.

–We don’t get many visitors, generally”, added the older woman.

–Which brings me to this: What is your name and why are you here?”, asked the probing man.

–My name is Robert Weiss and I wanted to interview some of the prominent historical figures in Southern Oregon. That’s why I brought my tape recorder, a notepad and a camera.

–My, don’t he talk English good”, said the older woman.

–Anyways, ya kin just put that camera back. We don’t allow no pictures. Ya say you do interviews. What does that mean?

–It means that I ask you questions regarding the things that have been important in your lives and how you might fit into the history of Southern Oregon. And might I ask you your names?

–The name’s Eagle. Eagle Point, the man drawled out.

–Matildy, I’m sure, said the round lady sticking out a pudgy hand for me to shake.

Note: Eagle and Matildy Point agreed to let me record our conversation and below is what followed.

RW: Mr. Point, are you a Native American?

EP: (slowly) No.

MP: They is always asking him that. This how it come about. When Eagle was just a toddler, Josiah and Malvurney, his pa and ma, tried to keep some of their vittles away from him. But it waren’t no good. No matter how much they they tried, there was Eagle with some food in his mouth and smiling to beat the band. Then they said that this kid had eyes like an Eagle and so it stuck.

Note: At this time I was invited into the spacious home of the Points. What we talked about will be the subject of Part 2.